


Club Empire

by YaoiNerd



Series: Thoughts and Daydreams [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fight Club Fusion, BAMF Keith (Voltron), BAMF Lance (Voltron), Emperor Lotor (Voltron), Fight Club - Freeform, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lust, M/M, Rough Sex, Violence, keith is a boxer, mafia, night club, sadistic lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaoiNerd/pseuds/YaoiNerd
Summary: Lance is the top fighter at the underground fight club Empire. A new challenger has come and who is lance to turn him down. Lance just doesn't know if he wants to punch the pretty boy or make out with him.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Thoughts and Daydreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688482
Kudos: 24





	Club Empire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guy!! I've been sitting on this idea for a while and decided why not? lets write this thing.  
> so you know that drill, comment with honesty and drop a kudo if you like it!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~Nerd Out

The sweat rolled down the side of his temple, making his fine hair stick to his skin. The cheers from the people around him were drowned out, the only noise was Lance's heartbeat pounding in his ears. The sound made a wicked smile spread across his face, surging him on.

The guy standing across from him hesitated, eyes going wide and stilling, something a street fighter should never do.

The smirk only grew bigger as Lance rushed forward, throwing a straight at the man’s block. His knuckles, wrapped only in white blood stained tape, did very little to protect his skin from splitting. It hurt, but it was a good pain. It was a pulsing pain that kept him focused. Steady and quick on his feet.

Lance bounced back, giving the guy some room. Lance wasn’t for remembering the names of his opponents. Making up a nickname was one of the joys of fighting he liked to indulge in.

The guy was bigger than him, at least 2 inches taller and far more broad. If they were judging by appearance Lance shouldn’t have a chance. He was lean muscle and wiry. But it was just another reason Lance had to win, to show everyone he was superior. He wasn't undefeated because of his looks, not saying he wasn't good looking.

The terrible haircut sparked the inspiration for Lance to name the man Butch. Lance smirked again to himself, he really was the funniest person he knew.

A having backed off for a few seconds it was time to finish this match. Enough toying with the poor brute.

With new determination he forced himself forward, concrete slightly cold on his bare feet. The man was ready, throwing a quick jab. Lance dodged left, smirk never leaving his face. Another jab. Dodged right. Being cocky was Lance's specialty. A specialty that almost always managed to get him into trouble. Another dodge and then a right caught him on his cheek, low enough that Lance tasted blood. Metallic and tangy.

Lance spit a mouth full of saliva and blood to the ground. He would have been pissed if he wasn’t having so much fun. The hit only spurred Lance on more. Keeping his hands up his block took more hits, but he was closing the distance.

 _Half the battle is getting in close._ He thought

Lance struck, fist connecting with Butch’s chest. The air sucked in was audible, but he wasn’t done. Butch’s guard was still pretty tight. Another straight, same spot, Butch never dropping his hands. The sting of Lance’s cheek was long forgotten as his adrenaline surged.

His foot left the ground, an echoed smack sounded as it hit the man’s ribs. Butch’s spine curved trying to absorb the impact. His guard slightly dropped. It was the opening Lance needed.

Lance planted his foot, driving the other up into Butch’s stomach. Pivoting back Lance opened up. Kicked once more and drove home with a straight to the nose. The crack under his fist was sick and satisfying to Lance's ears.

 _Broken, easy._ Was a twisted thought.

Butch’s knees buckled and he was falling forward. Lance easily slid out of the way, letting the man fall to the concrete.

The crowd erupted as the referee, a man in black jeans and faded shirt, came forward to count the KO off. Lance raised one arm as he watched money be exchanged between members of the crowd. Butch was down for the count and Lance was getting paid.

Empire was an underground fight club, run and owned by the Galra Mafia. It was located in the basement of a building in the old abandoned warehouse district. A place only people up to no good would do after dark.

The basement was split by day of the week. Friday being Fight Night. Other nights it served as a nightclub. It was a pretty frequented place, booze, music, and fights. Anyone’s wonderland.

Due to the basement being a night/fight club, it was much nicer than places Lance had frequented. For fighting specifically. While the grounds were concrete and so were the walls, the rest of the place made it work.

For being underground, lighting wasn’t a problem. Several large lights shined down on the area where Lance stood. The rest was covered in multicolored lights.

The bar was a long stretch across one of the walls, big enough to serve its numerous customers. Speaking of the bar and drinks, Lance needed one.

“Your winner,” the announcer started raising Lance's arm up, “Lance McClain better known as Smiley the Sharpshooter!!!” The crowd erupted in more cheers and Lance walked a small victory lap. The nickname given to him was atrocious if not accurate. He chose sharpshooter because hey, it was cool as fuck. The second part, not so much. It was given to him because Lotor said ‘his lovely sadistic smile shows only when he’s fighting’. But just because it was accurate didn’t mean he liked it.

As Lance walked through the crowd headed for the bar, his adrenaline started to fade. His knuckles ached and he could feel the cut in his mouth with his tongue.

The bartender, a true godsend and doll, already had Lance's drink on the corner for him. Lance thanked him, downing the drink. With his routine for the night incomplete, fight, drink, get paid, he set off back into the crowd.

Lance scanned the people, looking for the club host. Lotor was a slime ball, but he paid well. The search didn’t bring him Lotor’s blue eyes but a pair of brown.

The man staring down Lance did not look friendly, in any way. The scold on his face was mean and directed straight at Lance. The man was obviously another fighter in the club, but Lance had never seen him before. if the man’s expression was anything to go off of, he was obviously challenging him. And Lance was never one to run from a fight, you could ask his friends.

So, making a bee-line straight for the man was only natural. Lance walked over, confidence and smooth, maintaining eye contact with the man. The man wore shorts, similar to Lance's in everything but color. And where Lance's chest was still bare from the fight, the man wore a loose black tank.

“Are you a new fighter here?” Lance asked the man.

At first it looked like Lance would get brushed off, but the man replied. “Yeah,” the guy said. The scold he had maintained was gone with his words. _Must just be his resting face_ , Lance thought.

“Lance.” He said, holding out his hand. He was always polite, until proven otherwise; his mama didn’t raise him to be an ass, it just kind of happened. The man took it without second thought, not minding the blood on his hands. “Keith.” He said shaking Lance's hand.

“You ever fought before Keith?” Lance asked. A smile spread across Keith's face; It could have been seen as arrogant, but Lance saw the confidence behind it.

“Yeah, I used to box at the Lion’s Gym down on South street.”

 _Interesting_ , Lance thought, _a_ _boxer_. The lion gym was prestigious, run by a retired boxer. It was a hub for guys in the big leagues and those trying to make it in the big leagues.

Taking a closer look at Keith’s body he could see well defined biceps and pectorals. _Yeah I could see it_. He thought with an approving smirk.

“As a piece of advice, don’t expect your opponent to play by any boxing rules. Here in Empire, there are no rules.” Lance finished.

With a smirk, Keith opened his mouth to reply. Being interrupted by the announcer before he could start.

“Our next fight is going to be a cherry popper,” came Lotor's voice through the speakers. _Crude as usual_ , Lance thought rolling his eyes. Keith pulled off his tank and Lance reached out to take it. With a final smile Keith handed the tank to Lance, turning and walking towards the concrete clearing. Lance followed for a better view. “Our challenger, all the way from the prestigious Lion’s Gym, Keith Kogane.”

The crowd cheered mostly for the chance to see another fight and bet more money. Keith didn’t have any fans yet. He didn’t take the usual lap that challengers do either. He just stayed to his side. Humble was one way Lance would describe Keith.

“And our defender, you know him, you love him, and you hate him, its Prorok!!!” Lotor finished. Prorok entered the ring. Some of the crowd cheered while others booed.

Prorok was, to put it flatly, a dick. A big, cheating, dick.

The man used his large size and weight to overpower his opponents, which no, was not against any rules. It was the way he tended to use his size and weight to permanently injury his opponents that pissed Lance off.

Lance had been lucky. He had only fought him once; he’d won the fight, but it took its toll. He had a dislocated shoulder from grappling on the ground, bruised ribs, and a broken finger. It put him out for 5 weeks. _5 weeks of no money,_ he shuddered remembering. No money also meant no alcohol.

The smirk on Lotor's face made it obvious; This was a set up, and a badly done one at that.

 _Who’d he piss off to get this treatment?_ Lance wondered.

Lance didn’t know why Keith was being targeted nor was there anything he could do about it. Don’t get him wrong, he liked Keith. Didn’t really know him, but there was potential.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight.

Prorok charged forward, a mean snarl on his lips. _He’s a goner_ , Lance thought to himself rolling his eyes.

The parry Keith performed was effortless, even when Prorok struck out multiple times. Lance had to pinch himself.

The fluidity and grace. The steps were calculated, no energy wasted. Patience was one trait that Lance was not expecting to see in Keith. But patient he was.

He continued to dodge by hair's breadth, unnerving Prorok even more. Keith got a hit in and then dodged again. Repeating the cycle, tiring Prorok and waiting for the perfect time.

When Prorok shouted with agitation, Lance knew the time to end the fight was nearing. He could see Keith knew as well. The way his body tensed, and a faint smile that played on his lips.

The opening came sooner than expected. Prorok took a wide, hasty swing at Keith’s head. Keith ducked, closing their distance.

Lance wasn’t even sure he saw the final hit. He just saw Prorok hit the ground and Keith casually wipe his sticky forehead hair back, like he didn’t just knock out a guy that was twice his size.

Lotor announced Keith as the winner but Lance wasn’t hearing words. Wasn’t processing anything other than the sweaty man staring right back at him. he was beautiful and Lance was stunned.

And then one of those thoughts, that shouldn’t actually be a thought, crossed Lance's mind.

He wasn’t sure if Keith was turning him on or he was just shocked from the fight, but his heartbeat was picking up. The rapid pulse could be felt in his ears.

The one thing he did know was he wanted another fight. He just had to know. Who was strong, faster, better. Him or Keith? And he would find out.


End file.
